The Drop In
by Riley Killer
Summary: Linda's a Las Vegas gangster that has found herself in a tough spot, between gunpoint or a jump off an overpass. However when a red sports car Decepticon drives under her, will she have found herself a get away vehicle, or something that is so much more worse than the cops that have her cornered?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well this is the first time I've written a Transformer anything…. Let's see how this goes. O.o…. I intend for this to be a one shot, but considering I liked it well enough… I will probably continue it if enough interest is there. I like writing it, and Knock Out. I really like writing Knock Out.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Transformer industry; that goes to Hasbro. I do own the OC though.

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**It Worked In The Movies…**

"This is the Police, Freeze!"

In the teenage years, I suppose these would be the words that would almost make me piss myself. These words alone would have made me think things such as, 'oh god what have I done?' 'Who snitched?' And possibly my personal favorite, 'what is my mom going to say?'

However at the age of 24, and with blatant disregard for authority, words like those barely made me bat an eye anymore. In fact they were almost ignorable, since what was currently occupying my mind was something along the lines of, 'oh shit Linda, how are you going to get out of this one?' I would have to say this was probably the tightest of spots I'd been in a while, between a rock and hard place. After all, no gangster worth her tattoos would ever want to be caught in the center of an overpass with police sitting snugly on both sides. I suppose though that's when I get for leaving the outer limits of Las Vegas and heading out towards Jasper, Nevada wherever the hell that was. It wasn't like I kept a map on me or anything. When riding a motorcycle one usually couldn't afford to look at something like a map.

Speaking of which… I glowered lightly over the overpass where the remains of my once beautiful, red, Harley motorcycle laid smoking. The cops had shot her wheels out, leaving me really no choice but to jump off to save my own skin while she sped out-of-control. My arms were bleeding and scraped up, bits of gravel embedded in the skin. My knees in my pant legs were torn up and the knees themselves bleeding from hitting the ground and rolling.

Gunpoint was trained on me from both sides. Really it didn't look like I was actually going to get out of this one either. I could see the headlines now, 'Las Vegas Gangster Shot Down outside of Jasper, Nevada.' It almost made me smile, that much attention could actually bring a few eyes to the real situation, the corruption that caused the gangsters like me to act up, or better yet, the people who lead them.

"Put Your Hands Behind Your Head! You've Got No Where Else To Go!"

Now that wasn't technically true. I mean I could always just jump off the bridge. It looked to be about a 40-foot drop, maybe 15 if I was lucky. With the alcohol in my system I couldn't really tell the exact distance. I definitely wouldn't be able to make on foot if I survived the jump. Particularly with the condition I was in, I had a pretty bad limp going on from the actual fall off my motorcycle. My helmet on my head was pretty cracked too. So with all that in mind, I really had to consider whether or not I even wanted to take the risk of the jump, and then the possibility of me having to run on bad knees, arms, and the likelihood of losing more blood as I would probably get shot at from on top of the overpass.

So far, it wasn't looking good for Team Linda. The amusing part of all of this was I'd been driving out here just for a race. I never expected a police ambush actually at the racetrack; it appeared though they were catching on to us wily racers, illegal circuit ways… Which sucked because that was becoming a nice source of income for me. Though I suppose like all good things, it eventually had come to an end.

Just like if I jumped off the overpass my life would probably come to an end. Yet the temptation still lingered. I let out a breath and felt my hands slowly come up; resting behind my head while my backside leaned against the railing of the overpass. A foot lifted and planted on the cement ledge that lead up to the steel guardrail. Then I heard it, that beautiful sound that any racer would love to hear. A high-powered, heavy duty, purring, at least… I winced listening, a V8 horse engine. One that purred… cops heads turned and I swung my leg quickly over the guardrail seeing the headlights in the distance. I let out a breath and twisted grabbing the railing and leaning forward, seeing the lights underneath the overpass and hearing the commotion behind me. I really, _really_ hoped this worked. Otherwise I was sure this would kill me. But hey, ya know, I'd done more stupid shit than just jumping off an overpass… I could actually think of quite a few dumber stunts I had pulled just growing up…

Thankfully I was in better shape now than I had been back then. I winced, bending my knees. Drinking was probably inhibiting my better judgment, but I had the beginnings of a police record already, and more attention to said record was the last thing I needed. The purring car was getting closer; I felt anticipation running through me as I heard yelling as cops were taking notice. Tension moved through my body as my muscles coiled to spring. The light was getting brighter and brighter, I heard it echoing through the over pass and jumped.

Have you ever been on a roller coaster? Or gone over a bump in a car too fast? The g-force picking up your stomach and giving you that tickling feeling in your chest? It was like that. The car raced out from under the overpass, my eyes narrowed onto the front of it where I wanted my hands to be, and I hit, hearing a 'what the,' from the car making me confused as cars didn't talk. I summed it up to the alcohol while my hands gripped the seam right at the windshield before it connected with the top of the vehicle. Wind whipped at my face and pain echoed through my thighs, stomach, chest, and chin. I tasted blood in my mouth; having bitten down on through part of my cheek as my knees were curved and my legs were up, head down as I heard over the wind the echo to 'open fire.'

Gunfire has a peculiar sound. You see, it varies, a hand gun can sometimes sound like fire crackers, a shot gun can sound loud and then long in echo, right now, I was listening to popping sounds while my head remained down and my bloody, fingerless gloves hands remained tight in their grip. One of my hands lifted though as I felt something hot ricochet close to me and heard a snarl. The vibrations of it going through the car and entering my body. That was where things to truly weird.

Well… _weirder._ The car first of all, swerved before then doing a complete u-turn making my hands slip and body go rolling off, flying to the side. I missed the road, but hit the sand hard making me snarl out, my head still in helmet crashing against a boulder stunning me. With a blurred vision and the lights illuminating the Nevada night, I watched the car still, facing the cops before a whirling sound was produced into the air. At first, I was staring what I assumed to be a car… a beautiful red Aston Martin DBS V12, one that would make any girl that was a bit like me shiver in delight. However then it was getting bigger. I saw bits of silver from behind my helmet and red expanding, my vision swimming as black began to seep through the edges of my vision. A snarl rang through the air as my hearing faded in and out, but I heard distinctly someone yell, _"YOU RUINED MY FINISH!" _Before blacking out.

* * *

It didn't take a lot to make a Decepticon angry. But if there was one thing that the particular Decepticon dubbed 'Knock Out' prided himself in, it was the fact that he differed from most Decepticons in that matter. It took quite a bit to make him angry, outside of his vanity of course. So when there was a large crashing feeling that came over him, a sensation of weight on top of him, the fact it didn't dent his roof made him care a little less. However when there was the feeling of something hitting him, penetrating his rear, and scorching his paint…

That was unforgivable. It took only moments for him to turn around, the thing on top of him flying to the side and off the road, something he would investigate later, before he soon transformed into his Earth adapted cybertronian form, and stood at instead of the simple, beautiful red vehicle mode he had been before, a much larger, far more _violent_ height. His red eyes narrowed down and his metallic lips pulled into a snarl, "You Ruined My Finish..." His spark rod extended as he began forward towards the tiny humans that were around their hideous cars and flashing lights. It was just too _gaudy_ for him.

Needless to say though, disposing of them took little to no effort. The more they aimed at him, the more they fired at him, the more enraged he became. The smell of blood and roasting flesh hung in the air making him chuckle after a few moments. He always did consider himself better at tearing things apart rather than putting them back together, a maneuver he attempted with a man that shot directly at his face, pulling at his arms and then grinning widely as they almost seemed to 'pop' off. The body falling limp, with death or unconsciousness he didn't know, but he tossed it to the ground before turning away.

He would have to go back to the Nemesis now, cutting his drive short, and have Breakdown pull the metal inside of him out, as well as replace parts of his body work, followed by repainting, buffing, and puffing his paint. He almost growled in annoyance, for such a thriving race, their intelligence was minuscule. Why did they even begin shooting at him to begin with? His eyes turned to the overpass, and then to the corner of it, his optical receptors taking in the remains of a vehicle that was red on the corner, jammed in between the decline and a cement retaining wall underneath it. He turned, following the street to the spot where he left black tread marks from his turn around, looking at one side of the road, and then the other where he felt the thing that had been taking him for a joyride went flying.

He found the limp form of his 'rider,' his face contorting with disgust, as they lay unmoving in a patch of what could only be red sand, bloodied with their internal fluids. Such pathetic creatures, despite the virility of their race, he couldn't even torture this one for having the audacity to hop aboard him. His eyes turned back to the overpass though in thought. The humans in the awful cop cars however, may not have been shooting at him after all. Their pathetic human weapons did enough damage however for him to be furious at them. He eyed the overpass, before looking back to the creature on the ground, such a fragile, tiny being.

The only logical way to say that it got on his roof was to say however that it jumped from the overpass, calculated the correct timing, and landed on top of him before grasping hold of the seam of his roof and held tight. Thus the gunfire began and he was hit; enraging him and baiting him enough to turn around and destroy those that harmed his bodywork and annihilating the human on the ground's pursuers. Given the head structure atop their form, no doubt a helmet to protect their head, the remains of the motorcycle was theirs as well. The scenario neatly played itself out in his mind before he watched as the creature groaned and rolled over.

Hands reaching up, blood coating their fingertips and removing the helmet. Blonde hair streaked with blood flooded from the helmet, pooling around the female form that laid in blue leg wear and a blood speckled white covering. Their arms coated in the color along with their knees making his eyes narrow down, zooming in and spotting the gore that almost positively delighted him. Red worked well with their fair skin, were he not furious of the matter at hand… they were the reason he got shot at and thus his damaged finish being the result, he perhaps would take a favoring to this human.

Though their method of escape was still intriguing enough. It would be unfortunate to put such a creature out of their misery; nonetheless, _mercy_ was not in the Decepticon vocabulary. He would show it only in a quick painless death. He raised his spark rod and let out a low breath watching as the female human's eyes fluttered. He would wait for their eyes to focus, until he could see the whites of them, to deliver it. He would give them the fortune of knowing they were taken out by a higher being such as himself.

Or at least, he would have, had he not heard the familiar engine roar of another vehicle. His blood red eyes turned off, staring up the road to see a group of headlights approaching. His lips pulling into a grimace, "Scrap." He looked down, he still had time to kill the human, but if he changed to his vehicle mode now, he could race away before they had a chance to shoot at him, thus further damaging him. The sound of a semi horn notified him it was exactly who he _didn't_ want to deal with either.

Knock Out made up his mind, lifting his rod and allowing it to shrink back down. He attached it to his belt clasp attached and glowered down, "You live to die another day human." He twisted and then lunged forward in a jump. His body transformed back to his vehicle form, before he hit the ground, his tires squealing as he raced away from the scene.

* * *

I woke up to a pounding in my head and the sound of a car squealing. I looked up, seeing fuzzily, taillights. As my vision came back, almost unbelievably slow in the process, I watched as that red Aston Martin DBS V12 raced off. For a few moments I swayed in spot, before leaning against the rock and sighing catching my breath. A smell almost like bacon hung in the air though, making me exhale and cough as the stench of smoke and ash accompanied it. Forcing myself to my feet, I watched as the car drifted out of sight, before the rumbling of vehicles behind me made me glower and turn. Everything hurt, including the attempt to stand… As they didn't even stop though, I shouted after them, fighting back the want to cuss them out. A Semi-truck, a Camero, and… I grimaced, was that a Humvee and a motorcycle? I let out a breath rubbing my face finding it odd they raced away from me, and even odder they were all together. I eyed them as their taillights drifted from sight. the Camero was nice, but yellow had never been my color. None of them held a candle to the Aston Martin I hopped a ride on.

"Had to be at least a V12 Lin…" I muttered to myself, swaying and feeling dizzy before soon popping a squat back against the rock I had hit after flying off the damn red Aston. For a while, at least it felt like a while, there was nothing that came past me, before I heard another engine, the desert night air cool and my head after a while began to feel light. Honestly I was surprised it hadn't earlier, given the blood that coated my arms and legs by now. Headlights beamed down past the overpass, and were growing steadily brighter as they grew closer and closer. Maybe I was dying. Now there was a thought.

I used the rock to force myself up, before letting out a hiss as pain raced up through both my knees. The dirt probably was going to irritate me for months while they were healing up, same with my arms. The car coming forward this time though came to a stop; I heard the engine remain humming, maybe a V6? Definitely not anything higher, before groaning as everything prickled with a stinging sensation. The sound of a door clicking open gained my attention, I tried to wince back past the lights at the form that was lifting out, a taller form, but I couldn't tell what it was yet.

Over the hum though I heard a distinct murmur of, 'they said you'd be here….' Who said I would be here? The woman that came out of the car moved around it, standing in front of the headlights before she soon came near me, hands coming out to keep me from falling back on my ass as I stumbled, catching me by the shoulders making me hiss. "Easy…" I looked up; staring at the thick eye lashed green eyes that stared at me for a few moments, a frown on her lips.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about what happened up there would you?" She questioned jabbing a thumb over her shoulder; this made me blink while looking towards the overpass. On any other day, in day light, I could see what was going on, but my vision blurred and I winced, trying to focus it before shutting my eyes and shaking my head. "I see… Well." She looked me up and down; "We should get you to the hospital, shouldn't we?" She was awfully calm about this, but her tone said if I said no I probably wouldn't be facing her so calmly. "Can you walk?"

"Probably…" I grumbled, before grunting as an arm moved around my waist, a wince coming from me as pain ushered up my side causing another hiss. Her black hair, pulled back in a ponytail bobbed as she let me use her for a crutch, my arm over her shoulder. She glanced at my cracked helmet on the ground before questioning, "So what happened?"

The entire situation that landed me in this state to begin with made me think quietly about what to say to her, before I murmured simply enough, "I fell off my bike." A calm 'ahh' passed, now whether or not she believed me, I wasn't sure. But it wasn't absolutely necessary that she believed me either. I glanced down at her, grunting for a moment as we reached the passenger side of her car, an old white Ford Crown Victoria. Relatively good condition… but not my type either. As I slipped down into the passenger seat, finding towels already laid out, I quietly noted that apparently, her finding me was not unexpected… I wondered briefly if those cars that passed me, or the red Aston Martin had anything to do with it. I rubbed my face, leaning back into the seat and watched as she slipped down into the driver seat, telling me to buckle up. I managed to do so, finding it just as much as a hassle pain wise as standing, sitting, and as a matter of fact, staying away, before shutting my eyes.

"So who are you lady?" I questioned quietly. I heard her shift gears, throwing the car into drive and felt the movement as the car began to turn around, heading back towards where it came. Probably into Jasper, Nevada, seeing as the town was so close after all.

"Nurse June Darby…" Huh. Darby was a nice name; I think I'd name my next motorcycle that, or maybe a dog… it definitely was not a cat name. "What's yours?"

"Linda Greene."

"Well Linda, you're in good hands."

I opened an eye and lazily looked at her, she was swimming in and out of focus and I was finding it a bit harder to concentrate, soon I settled with just leaving my eyes all together and relaxing back into the seat.

"That's good to hear Miss Darby…"

It was honestly the sound of her car engine that put me to sleep, good hands be damned.

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**A/N: **And that's the end of the first installment. Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to those that reviewed, favorited, and are now following this story. I really appreciate it. So here is a second installment. I now have a Knock Out and Starscream figure for inspiration... that watch my drawing figure Hitler… the only part that bothers me is Knock Out's goatee isn't correct. Also, there is now art AKA: the new cover for this story that I have drawn up. Since I have enjoyed drawing Knock Out and Linda so much, expect more of it in the future. Also, Kudos to whoever finds the Easter egg.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers: Prime or the Transformers series… that's Hasbro's gig.

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**Deals with the Cross Dressing Devil**

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"Welcome to McDonalds, my name is Linda, how may I help you today?"

I listened to the crackling speaker of the person on the other side, glowering up at the T.V. that displayed the car that had pulled up to the window. A little Prius, powder _blue_ of all things was my guess at the hint of grey on the screen, and a soft purr that couldn't even compare to a cat with bronchitis. I quirked a brow at it from below my cap and let out a low sigh, finger off the comm button and hand over the microphone just in case, while I tapped at the counter impatiently. A little paranoia never hurt anyone after all. Everyone had to have a job. Particularly in this shit economy. It honestly is one of those truths that no one likes to admit. Everyone had bills to pay, everyone had to make their way in the world, and everyone had the next gig to go onto…

If it weren't for the fact my bike was wrecked, I highly doubt I would even _be_ here. Much more importantly so, sober. I did my best work at McDonalds when I was shit faced with my best friends Jack Daniels and Smirnoff… I couldn't say however, the same for my driving. My eyes rolled to the side, watching as someone put more fries into the deep fryers and then back over towards the T.V. above me. What the hell was taking them so long? I had smiled so my voice had sounded cheerful and _everything_.

It already aggravated me to be here first off. Particularly when making _honest_ money was the goal here. If I wanted blood money or even the horrific _drug_ money, I could have gotten the amount I not only needed for a new bike, but the equipment for the modifications I would need to do after purchase. It did have an irritating feel though, standing here in a McDonalds uniform of all things, when I _knew_ I could be running down the back alleys of Vegas, to that formidable door with the eye slot that would open at three knocks, and ask for a code word or password, before handing off what ever was hot at that time.

Angel dust, maybe LSD, a few ecstasy runs never hurt and was good for the adrenaline. Anything really to make the bill right? But no… While by all means, I _could _be running the drugs, or taking the fights or hits that would be asked of me, but no. I wasn't actually _allowed_ too. The only downside I had ever seen in being a gang actually.

Everybody has to report to somebody, and that somebody usually is the one that is going to call the shots, or even more detesting, make the _rules_.

Unfortunately the rules said for me that I couldn't get a new bike off the crap money I would get through blood and drugs, in fact, when asking for a job or two, I was shot down; and even worse, while getting angry about being shot down, I was almost nearly shot. The boss said to call it my, "_punishment_," for wrecking my bike, and getting nearly caught by the cops in the first place. Since there had been a gun pointed at my head quite literally, there was a simple decision to make. One that didn't involve a bullet in my brain. Thankfully though it had not been the first time I had been in such a situation, so the decision wasn't that hard to figure out.

Las Vegas Baby, what happens here, stays here, quite literally. Once you're under someone's thumb, it was damn hard to get out. I still hadn't managed yet, not that I was really ever attempting to though…

_"….A double cheeseburger and a large Sprite, and I would also like…" _Oh, the customer was talking. I quietly listened, soon repeating back to the person on the other end as I had been taught to in that laughable regimen they called training. With a simple grunt I logged the order before rubbing my face and letting out another sigh. Paycheck by paycheck, I'd get to my new bike…

My eyes rolled up and I looked at myself in the curved reflection of the convex mirror that sat in the corner, displaying the customers so fashionably to me.

Maybe I'd get it hot rod red with almost golden rims this time… Kinda like the Ashton I remembered seeing. Turning and leaning against the register I had with me at the window, I shut my eyes and inhaled wistfully. Now there had been a beautiful car. Fast, a smooth ride… that thing didn't roll across the asphalt either, it practically had glided. Fantastic turning… I bit my lip and shook my head.

_Motorcycle first Lin'_. I schooled in my head, _and then once we got our own ride again, maybe we can find that car._

After all, I probably wouldn't get a gun shoved against my head again if I actually bought the bike on my own. The only thing I might get told off about would be riding it uncolored on our gangs turf.

I spotted another car rolling up to the drive-thru speaker and felt my lips pull into a smile, an old black Chevy Impala, with two men sitting in the front.

I think I could live with that.

* * *

…. Peace, I've learned over the years, comes in many forms. For some it's sex, maybe alcohol, or even the fuzzy feeling in the head one got from being high. I have experienced them all, and yet none of them really could compare to the feeling I have _right_ now.

Nothing beat the primal, adrenaline rush that accompanied jumping in new recruits. The screams reminded me of home, while the sound of fist, and foot, punching and stomping down on flesh gave remnants in my mind of the many trips I have taken to the emergency room.

Miss Darby, the woman who had picked me up off the highway a week ago, no doubt would be getting called in for the late shift tonight. Pulling my cellphone out of my pocket as Jackson, an older brother (by gang terms and those terms alone), beat some ginger brat with acne on one side of his face with a club, I checked the time. It was only eight PM; there was still plenty of flesh to bruise, and more than enough time to enjoy it.

I glowered at Jackson lightly, the back of his black haired head facing me and ran a hand through my bangs with a grimace. Had my bike not been as busted to hell as it was, I probably wouldn't be here right now. I didn't enjoy jumping in unless I was personally _involved_. Granted, I still got that warm fuzzy feeling of seeing some twig in high heels, standing up and attempting to fend for herself against two hell cat femme-fatals. It wasn't nearly as enjoyable when I was seeing those fists hit flesh, or that talon covered hand pull hair, when it wasn't me behind the wheel though.

Call me a sentimentalist. I enjoyed my little brothers and sisters having me there to guide them into the process. The gang lord would probably have said it was love, as that had been the same yarn she had spun for me years ago. I suppose for me it was just down to the primal basics. It was defeat and submission through force and domination. I liked to think myself simple that way. Others unfortunately, Jackson in particular, disagreed.

I watched as he began to yank his belt off to lash the bleeding brat with it. The kid screaming and crawling back while I stood with my arms crossed leaning against a dumpster, hidden away from the main drag. Veritas, a cross dressing hooker that had been in Sixth Street East Gang's employment for the longest time, took a drag off her cigarette before reaching underneath her miniskirt's waistband and adjusting herself. To my understanding, her full sex change where they make her have a vagina is next month. For now though, she was still tucking her man parts and playing 'trap' for many man that wanted to pay her to take a step as she put it, "into their office."

"Did you ever scream that much?" I glanced at her; arms still crossed and raised a brow at her.

Veritas, used to be a six-foot twig of a Cajun man. The soft accent coating her now painted pink puffy lips as I looked up at her, her current pumps giving her at least another three inches. Her eye shadow was a bright blue to bring out her eyes, her eyeliner complimenting, and her blush bringing out her cheeks. Though I suppose one could never get rid of the Adams apple, she made a pretty woman. Accompanying her miniskirt though was the fishnet stockings with the thigh high stiletto pumps, the Victoria Secret's push up bra, and a top that just barely contained her breasts. Allowing me to just see the beginning of the areola of her nipples. Honestly, the doctor who worked on her, and was still going to, did a fantastic job.

Still eyeing her, keeping questions about the procedures she would have to go through, and the process she had undergone mostly to myself, I soon looked away. My own blonde hair, as opposed to her black curly that went to her shoulders, swished behind me in the ponytail I had put it in up for the night. Jackson was just about to wail on the kid again, he would probably kill him before the night was over.

The boss wouldn't like that. I grimaced at the thought of having to deal with it before giving a shrill whistle. He paused, looking up before I jerked my head to the side. He glared at me causing me to shoot him a knowing one back. This alright night might turn sour if I had to get involved. I was still healing from road rash and a rather sore head from the week before. Looking at him still as he made for me, I let my hand gently slip into my red leather jacket I wore over a black cami, palming the butt of my best friend Colt 45. The cool of the metal as my hand grasped it, pulling it out and finger slipping the safety off made my adrenaline high lessen a bit, and my mind go quiet while he stilled in his tracks.

This time when I lifted my head to the side, gesturing he should move away, he did so without hesitation. That was good. If he wasn't going to listen to me, the boss would question why I should ever be saddled with this duty again. Honestly, I wouldn't care if I never had to moderate jumping in, and I would only be allowed to jump in personally, but that didn't mean I wanted the blood on my hands for something that needed only a light threatening reminder, as opposed to a bullet through the brain to make an example as why I shouldn't be crossed. I at best was a proxy for the boss for this jumping in session… so I suppose if the worst I had to do was remind Jackson of this by a simple gesture as slipping my gun out and nonverbally saying I would shoot him, I was doing a pretty good job.

Jackson wasn't as useful as he had been when he was younger anyways. I highly doubted the boss would ever care if I expressed my opinion of this. As while he wasn't as useful, Jackson was still always loyal, just like me. Also, him being my brother, just like Veritas was my sister, and any other gang member were my brothers and sisters, well, that might lead to questions of my own loyalty, and if I was mutinous or not.

I already was taking heat for the car chase last week and having to be yanked from the hospital before the cops could pop in and ask me about apparently some massacre that occurred on the overpass that I jumped from. The last thing I needed was something adding to that heat, something like suspicion. Then instead of heat, I'd be dealing with a raging inferno.

And that wasn't something I had on my _To Do _list.

"Greene."

I slipped the Colt back into my jacket pocket, a click signifying the safety coming back on before letting out a breath. I glanced back at Veritas quietly and tilting my head towards her, trying to recall her question. Ah right, did I scream as much as gingy did?

"No." I replied easily with a huff, "If I remember right, I had four men on me, I managed to blind one with blood running down from my head, kicked one so hard in the jewels he had to go the hospital, and the other two subdued me by beating me to unconsciousness." Veritas was quiet for a moment.

"Your daddy beat you, didn't he sugar? If you fight like that. Gotta be alotta rage in there."

At this point I gave her a blank face before shrugging again, and then looking at the ginger on the ground that was twitching a little. I grimaced. He honestly didn't look too good.

"I put a bullet through his head at 16. So what does it matter?" Veritas's sharp inhale didn't make me flinch. The boss had a similar reaction when I had thrown the gun that I had been given to do it onto her desk. At the time, it had been a display of loyalty, to promote me to an intermediate member, after doing so well after my first year. To fully come into my new family, I had to shed the bad of my old. That had been the philosophy… Then again, the loser that had been my biological father had cut and run before I was even born, and putting a bullet through the abusive fuck that Stan had been almost had felt like Christmas coming early, only with more blood. I would have preferred the red without the stench, stick, and mess though. My mind quietly drifted back to that red car that I had seen, the slickness of it and the smooth, I then felt myself rudely yanked back as Veritas spoke to me again.

"You're so calm Greenie." I glanced at Veritas again, seeing her lip out in a pout and scowling then. She knew I hated it when she called me that. The displeasure on my face as my nose scrunched and my lips pulled downward made her smile a little, "Got a dead little soul inside you don't you?" She sounded so pleased. I gave a scoff and looked at Jackson as he was helping the femmes round up the twig in high heels, soon sending her down. Others were finishing up; there had been 15 recruiters and perhaps only seven or eight recruited… I could see chests moving amongst the bloody flesh, and the bruises would no doubt be a colorful spectrum tomorrow. As the twig finally went down, I looked up at the bright night sky, just filled with light pollution. If I had my bike, I could have rode off into the desert for the bit, with the rattlesnakes and the scorpions to stare at a clear night sky.

Veritas was not about to leave me to my small fantasy though. "Not much takes you off guard Greene, does it?"

"No, Veri. Not much does."

"So I heard you wrecked your bike. Also that Megan wants you work actual employment to get it back." Finally, something I might actually be interested in talking about.

"Yeah, I'm working the food service." Veritas gave me an 'ahh…' She had her own displeasure for the food service. I'd give her an 'A' for effort in replying though.

"How's that working for you?"

"Slowly." I spat angrily. I was a week without my darling bike and I had already felt withdrawals at night from not having the vibration of that engine between my legs, the adrenaline of going faster and faster, testing my speeds and reactions, moving left to right, bobbing and weaving. I didn't know how long Megan honestly wanted me to work this damn job before she gave me a different one to run. Between her and Bobby, her husband, it was always hard to figure out just what in the hell they would have for me, or anyone else for that matter, next.

But them were the breaks you know. Veritas's whisky fresh voice made me grunt as she chuckled. "Well… how about a deal? One that might get you that bike free of charge, and one that Miss Madam Megan wouldn't be able to deny you?"

Now the whore had my full attention. "I'm listening Veritas." She held up a finger to me, her own nails manicured and one eye shut in a wink. The recruiters I could hear were settling so I let my urgency flicker onto my face, we didn't need someone over hearing this. That would throw a solid wrench in my chances. All it would take would be the boss saying _"no." _And this offer would be completely off limits to me.

Veritas, being the fantastic sister she was, taught well in the ways of the Sixth Streeters, knew this. So she was quick.

"After you clean up here, I got a bike that I've bet in a race." Oh now she had my absolute enthrallment. I watched her hands come up, "It's basic, but in your hands, it'll be a delightful dish." She grinned at me again with that clown smile, "Win the race for me, I'll give you a quarter of the pot, and let you keep the bike as a _gift_. I stole it from a dick who tried to skip me on the bill as it is."

Biting my lip, I almost bounced up and down with the excitement that began to well in the place of dying adrenaline. It looked like Christmas may have just come early. Her hand held up though, she then frowned.

"Lose, and you work for me as a guard when you're not working for Megan." Quietly she reached into her own pocket of her miniskirt. She then held out a key and grunted, "Hold this for me." My excitement died, as I knew what she was going to do next. After all, an addict always needed to have their fix.

I winced as she pulled out a small vial filled with white powder, carefully dumping it out in a line and then closing one of her nostrils on her nose. Inhaling the cocaine, I grimaced as she sat up, eyes rolling into the back of her head and fluttering before her gaze soon came back to me after a few inhales of oxygen. "So, do we have a deal?"

I let out a low breath, contemplating it before nodding upward towards her, "For how long?"

"Until I say Greene. You do it for Megan, and I've known you for just about as long, I think you can do it for me…" She looked me up and down and I winced as she gave a hungry lick of her lips, "In more ways than one."

Unsavory bitch, she knew my weakness though. A new bike with little cash and no effort but a tiny little race…

What were the chances of there being someone that could beat me in an illegal race as well, at least on a bike? I would have the advantage… but so many people liked muscle car races that I might be out of luck… I rubbed my face in thought as she took the key from me and then glanced at my fingers in contemplation. _What the hell, why not? _I went ahead and took a small lick of my fingers, getting what powder fell onto them into my system.

A small buzz hit my brain and I felt my lips quirk upwards. Perhaps giving her my first real smile all week.

"Sure Veri." I snickered, "I'll race the damn thing." I watched as Jackson, the two femmes, and a few other recruiters were dragging the unconscious bodies of the recruited into a pile before grunting, "Let me check to make sure everyone has pulses, then we'll hit the road."

After all, I felt like nothing without my bike. I highly doubted I would be getting back even the _parts _to my bike anytime soon as it was. So, what was one little race?

* * *

**A/N**: And that ends the second installment. Have no fear, Knock Out will return in the next chapter, I now have a semi idea as to where this story can go. So since I have a little bit of handle on it, I'm off to do that. I'll see you next chapter, and remember! Feedback is always appreciated.


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